Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,
     As having sense of beauty, do omit
     Their mortal natures, letting safe go by
     The divine Desdemona.

In general, as is the case with most of Shakespeare’s females, we lose sight of her personal charms in her attachment and devotedness to her husband.  ’She is subdued even to the very quality of her lord’; and to Othello’s ’honours and his valiant parts her soul and fortunes consecrates’.  The lady protests so much herself, and she is as good as her word.  The truth of conception, with which timidity and boldness are united in the same character, is marvellous.  The extravagance of her resolutions, the pertinacity of her affections, may be said to arise out of the gentleness of her nature.  They imply an unreserved reliance on the purity of her own intentions, an entire surrender of her fears to her love, a knitting of herself (heart and soul) to the fate of another.  Bating the commencement of her passion, which is a little fantastical and headstrong (though even that may perhaps be consistently accounted for from her inability to resist a rising inclination [Footnote:  Iago.  Ay, too gentle.  Othello.  Nay, that’s certain.]) her whole character consists in having no will of her own, no prompter but her obedience.  Her romantic turn is only a consequence of the domestic and practical part of her disposition; and instead of following Othello to the wars, she would gladly have ‘remained at home a moth of peace’, if her husband could have stayed with her.  Her resignation and angelic sweetness of temper do not desert her at the last.  The scenes in which she laments and tries to account for Othello’s estrangement from her are exquisitely beautiful.  After he has struck her, and called her names, she says: 

     —­Alas, Iago,
     What shall I do to win my lord again? 
     Good friend, go to him; for by this light of heaven,
     I know not how I lost him.  Here I kneel;
     If e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love,
     Either in discourse, or thought, or actual deed,
     Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense
     Delighted them on any other form-
     Or that I do not, and ever did
     And ever will, though he do shake me off
     To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly,
     Comfort forswear me.  Unkindness may do much,
     And his unkindness may defeat my life,
     But never taint my love.

   Iago.  I pray you be content:’tis but his humour. 
     The business of the state does him offence.

   Desdemona.  If’twere no other!—­

The scene which follows with Aemilia and the song of the Willow are equally beautiful, and show the author’s extreme power of varying the expression of passion, in all its moods and in all circumstances;

   Aemilia.  Would you had never seen him.

   Desdemona.  So would not I:  my love doth so approve him,
     That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns,
     Have grace and favour in them, &c.